


don't bother checking my work (i've never cared for math anyway)

by pseudoanalytics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drift Compatibility, M/M, Non-Chronological, POV Outsider, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Time Skips, canon parallels... so many canon parallels, the trials of being shirabu kenjirou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/pseuds/pseudoanalytics
Summary: It isn’t until Shirabu’s back at LOCCENT that it really sinks in. Forty-eight wins? An impressive number, true, and a definite sign of Ushijima’s strength, especially compared to Tendou. But in anyone else, an unbalanced score like that would indicate a depressingly low chance of drift compatibility.Drifting with Ushijima was simple statistically, but potentially deadly realistically. And drifting with Tendou? A veritable nightmare. If not for Washijou’s insistence, Shirabu would have dropped him long ago.Still, something is calling to him. Something beyond numbers and data projections.Because Ushijima may have knocked Tendou down forty-eight times. But that means there were forty-nine times he got back up.





	don't bother checking my work (i've never cared for math anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to morgan for being an excellent beta (but also then i went back through and made a couple minor edits, so any additional errors are my own)
> 
> this is pretty shirabu-centric for ushiten week, but his end goal is really to get them together, so...

"What a damn waste…" Washijou says, turning away from the glass. "Reset it all."

"Yes, Marshal." Shirabu stands and waves his hands at the rest of LOCCENT. "You've seen all there is to see. Medical is on the way. Reboot, and let's get ready for the next pair."

The command center erupts in a flurry of movement. Piles of papers shift, and a few stray sheets flutter to the floor here and there. Fingers fly across rickety keyboards and glitchy projections pop up around the room at random.

Shirabu knocks back his third cup of coffee and ignores his own advice.

Out there, in the conn-pod of the testing jaeger, medical teams are streaming in and out frantically. A stretcher is wheeled at top speed across the loading bay with a body draped in a white sheet, quickly going red.

"The hell are we gonna do with him?" the Marshal asks. It's probably rhetorical, so Shirabu doesn't respond. "All that power, and we can't use it." His fist slams down suddenly on the control panel, sloshing coffee onto the floor. "Kenjirou. Unless there's a kaiju ringing our doorbell, I don't want another scrap of paperwork finished or a single report written until you've got a second brain. In. That. Jaeger. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Shirabu says. His spine is straight as an arrow, radiating confidence.

Washijou's eyebrows furrow further, casting shadows across his face, but he must see what he's looking for. He shoots one last look at the frenzy outside, then walks away, leaving LOCCENT.

Shirabu huffs a breath that flutters his bangs lightly. He leans on his hands and stares outside too.

While one pilot is rushed away in urgent condition, the other stalks out of the unit, unfazed despite a thin trail of blood leaving one nostril. Ushijima Wakatoshi, Japan's top ranger hopeful, waves away any assistance and exits the jaeger bay alone.

* * *

When Ushijima had entered the cadet program, Washijou couldn't have been happier. He didn't necessarily _ look _ it, but for someone who knew him as well as Shirabu, it was obvious. Jaeger losses had been heavy lately, both for Japan and the other nations around the Pacific. Australia had lost two teams in two weeks, and the downswing in mood was taking its toll. Cadets were dropping from the program at an unforeseen rate, and it was going to take a miracle to swing the momentum back in humanity's favor.

For the Tokyo Shatterdome, Ushijima had been that miracle. His simulator scores were unheard of, at 49 drops and 49 kills, three of which were also the fastest recorded times. His impact index was one of the top three in the entirety of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, and his neural stability put him on track to be Drift-compatible with over 87% of potential partners. He was, for all intents and purposes, the perfect pilot.

But Shirabu hadn't grown up in this environment learning to think positively, so when he saw Ushijima standing in the lineup with the other graduating cadets, all he could wonder was, "So, what's the catch?"

Two days later, Soekawa Jin died from a brain hemorrhage. He'd been test piloting for the first time, partnered with Ushijima, when the neural connection overloaded and shattered, taking Soekawa with it. The jaeger unit had only managed to raise its left arm.

Any additional attempts with Ushijima in a conn-pod had failed miserably. No matter who he was matched with, and no matter how high their estimated compatibility was, Ushijima's consciousness overpowered them, again and again. He could Drift perfectly fine in the simulator, but the rush of a real jaeger and the urge to fight was too much.

"I want to try with Oikawa," Ushijima had said one day. "He has a 100% Drift-compatibility success rate. He's the only person who can bring out my jaeger's full potential."

"For the last time," Shirabu said, clinging to the last shreds of his available politeness, "Oikawa already has a partner, and he and Iwaizumi are scheduled to head to the Lima Shatterdome next week. He doesn't want to risk compromising his health, and frankly, I don't blame him."

Ushijima had paused. "I am stronger in combat than Iwaizumi is." It wasn't bragging, nor was it meant as an insult. It was a statement of fact, and perhaps that was why it was so hard to argue with.

"We can't lose the Royal Melee now just to prove a point." Shirabu had flipped through pages on his clipboard, wondering where he'd left the updated list of unmatched rangers-in-waiting. "Now if you really want to pilot a jaeger, get back in the kwoon room, pick up a staff, and start testing compatibility."

Ushijima had nodded silently and walked off, already stretching.

* * *

This is starting to get ridiculous.

"Stop. Stop, stop, stop," Shirabu calls.

On the training mats, Ushijima and Tsukishima freeze, one panting heavily as his glasses slip down his nose and the other hardly breaking a sweat.

"What are you doing?" asks Shirabu coldly. "Are you here to mess around, or are you going to fight?"

"Like a regular human stands any chance against _ him_," Tsukishima snaps. His regularly polite demeanor has crumbled with exhaustion. Shirabu _ was _ hoping he'd make a good matchup; Tsukishima's intellect stats are unnaturally high, which is a possible indication that he'll be able to stand up to Ushijima strong-arming the neural load. There had been one impressive moment there too, at the start of the sparring, where Tsukishima had skillfully blocked one of Ushijima's attacks. 

But the moment seems to have been a fluke because none of that chemistry has shown up again. And as Tsukishima grows more and more exhausted, it becomes increasingly obvious that Ushijima is taking it easy on the guy, probably because he knows that if he knocks him down, he won't have the stamina to pick himself back up.

Shirabu has half a mind to end the session early, but a quick memory of the Marshal's face as he ordered him to find Ushijima a partner convinces him otherwise. He taps the screen of his datapad, flipping through candidate files for the fiftieth time that day, irrationally hoping someone new might appear. Of course, the names stay the same, and Shirabu remains stumped.

"Take a rest, Tsukishima. Ohira! You're up."

Ohira Reon is not a good match for Ushijima. His tendency to silently apologize for dealing a finishing blow makes him a far better candidate for someone like Goshiki, who could use the occasional ego boost. But at this point, Shirabu is about seven failed fights from throwing everyone in the Shatterdome into the ring, even the good Drs. Kuroo and Yaku from the K-Science labs.

Shirabu will fry every brain along the Pacific Rim if that's what it takes to find Ushijima a drift partner.

He doesn't even bother to tell Ohira that he's clearly holding back. The guy probably already knows, and while the sparring lacks tension, it has incredible balance. They're pretty evenly matched in terms of technical skill, and since Ohira isn't raising the stakes and Ushijima isn't going for the knockout just yet, they're basically a perpetual-motion machine.

It's a productive training session if nothing else, so Shirabu turns back to his screen and starts looking at some of his other troublesome candidates. It's not like Ushijima is the only one he can't pair up. Some graduates still haven't officially held a drift at all.

In the center of the kwoon, Ushijima scores his final point, and Ohira gracefully bows off.

Shirabu grits his teeth and calls Goshiki out for a turn. If there's one thing that cheers him up, it's watching that guy get pummeled into the mat.

* * *

It was a tragic backstory that had become all too common anymore.

Shirabu lost both his parents at a young age, grew up with a horde of other orphans, and escaped as soon as possible to join the PPDC.

He'd wanted to be a pilot even before the Tokyo attack. But afterward, watching from underneath a slat of wood as a jaeger singlehandedly beat the kaiju that had flattened his house and family, Shirabu was absolutely determined to make it happen.

From the first day of training it was obvious what a challenge it would be. He wasn't _ bad _ at the physical work; he just wasn't the _ best. _ In order to keep his stats high enough to remain in the program, Shirabu had studied nonstop, desperately balancing out his lower combat scores by topping the charts in technical understanding of the Drift.

After the former Marshal Ukai had died —before Shirabu's time — his grandson had stepped up in his place. The ideology of the time was that more cadets meant more pilots, and that was how they were going to win. Numbers. Swarm the enemy just like the enemy swarmed them until the day humanity won. But that wasn't the way Shirabu thought. Rushing in heedlessly at once, with no one for backup, was risky and stupid. The chances of jaegers getting in the way of each other were too high, and if a kaiju got past them all, there would be no one left to guard the Shatterdome and the rest of Japan.

The second Marshal Ukai held a Miracle Mile for three years before he was transferred to Los Angeles. They had thousands of unruly cadets, and if there was one thing Ukai had shown, it was that he could handle anyone, no matter how difficult. It was under his lead that the powerhouses of Oni Quiescent, piloted by Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, and Guardian Prior, piloted by Tanaka Ryuunosuke and Nishinoya Yuu, came into existence. 

The PPDC had brought in Marshal Washijou to replace Ukai, and things had changed rapidly in Tokyo. Gone was the concept of quantity over quality. The new Marshal was only interested in the best of the best. He focused on finding the top cadets in the system and training them up to perfection.

While this was much more in line with what Shirabu preferred, it also greatly reduced his chances of making it through the jaeger program. He worked hard at his studies, harder than anyone else, desperate to compensate for his declining sim scores. As the weak were weeded out, the gap between him and his peers grew exponentially. Shirabu watched his name slip down the ranks, lower and lower until he finally hit the bottom fifth.

He'd known the day would come, but it had still hurt to be called to the Marshal's office. 

He knocked politely and waited to be admitted. Then the door had opened and the rest of the lower fifth walked out, half of them in tears. No matter how rigid his self-control was, Shirabu failed to restrain his jolt of shock. They passed him with equal confusion, and Shirabu panicked, wondering if he was late.

"You're not late," Washijou had said, as if reading his mind. "Come in, Shirabu."

"Yes, sir."

"You know why you were called in today." It wasn't a question. Washijou rarely asked any that weren't rhetorical. He only _ told. _ "The jaeger program has strict admittance policies. I don't let just anyone in like the Ukais might have."

"Yes, sir. I know, sir."

"Look at this. Tell me what this is."

A datapad slid across the desk and into Shirabu's line of sight. He released his clenched fists from his upper thighs to take it and look at the screen. "My sim scores, sir."

"Mm. Not great." Washijou crossed his arms and sat back. "Not embarrassing, but not incredible. And I'm looking for _ phenomenal. _"

Shirabu blinked rapidly. He refused to break down here, in the Marshal's office. He could do that later on the train home, wherever that was. The Shatterdome was more of a home than anything he'd had since—

"Now tell me what this is," Washijou continued, reaching out to swipe to the next page.

"My technical scores."

"That's right." There was a creak as the Marshal sat forward in his chair, leaning close into Shirabu's space. "Tell me how it is that someone with scores like these isn't already leading our J-Tech department."

Shirabu looked up for the first time, at a loss for what to say. That had almost sounded… complimentary. "I don't… I don't want to work in J-Tech, sir."

"Why not."

"I want to serve on the frontlines. I want to be involved _ realtime _ in the kaiju battles. I'm tired of standing around and watching other people work to protect humanity, when I want to wield the jaeger that drives the kaiju back once and for all." Shirabu blinked faster, frantically. "Winning the war with a singular brute strength… I think _ that's _ the most powerful way to fight."

Washijou hummed for a minute, deep in thought. After what felt like hours, he finally stood, beckoning to Shirabu as he went. "Come with me," he said redundantly. Shirabu was already on his feet.

They'd walked through the Shatterdome, and now that Shirabu was free of his oppressive fear of the Marshal — after all, what more could he do beyond expelling him from the program — he was able to see the respect that Washijou commanded. J-Tech workers greeted him as he passed, and even Dr. Kuroo gave a wonky wave with the hand not currently occupied by some gooey, neon kaiju organ. 

"Shirabu, welcome to LOCCENT," Washijou said suddenly, and then he was herding Shirabu inside the command center, where throngs of harried technicians darted around computers and tablets and notebooks, entering data and pulling up schematics. "This is Aone, our Chief LOCCENT Operator. He's in charge of initiating the neural handshakes, classifying the kaiju, and, perhaps most importantly, being the jaegers' eyes and ears in battle."

Aone nodded once, completely silent and intense.

Washijou continued, "He's also due for a transfer to Hong Kong. They recently lost their head of J-Tech, and I recommended Aone for the position."

The situation was slowly dawning on Shirabu, and he hardly dared to believe it.

"He leaves in two months. That's all the time you'd have to get up to speed on the most important job in this Shatterdome." Raising the datapad that still showcased Shirabu's scores, Washijou stared directly into his eyes. "But judging by this, you'll be able to do it."

Shirabu would never be a jaeger pilot, and if he was honest with himself, even if he _ had _ made it, he probably wouldn't have lived very long afterward. But directing _ all _ the jaegers… He'd in a sense be wielding their combined power at once. Singlehandedly. It might not be as flashy as being a pilot would have been, but it was what Shirabu was good at.

_ I'll stay behind the scenes, but I'll be the brightest LOCCENT Operator yet, _ he thought. _ It won't be my job to fight the kaiju publicly, but rather to give our jaeger pilots the best possible chance at victory. _

Two months later, Aone transferred.

Shirabu effortlessly took his place.

* * *

It's not an exaggeration to say that Shirabu _ hates _ this. At this point, he's hardly testing Ushijima's compatibility and is instead just using him as combat practice for some of the less-skilled graduates.

Tendou Satori is out on the mat with him right now, getting what's probably the beatdown of his life and taking it all with a smile. His combat scores vacillate wildly between impressively good and depressingly bad, but Washijou's willing to gamble on him, so here in the program he stays.

Ushijima's bo staff ricochets off of Tendou's ribcage audibly, making him grunt as he skids across the mat. He leaps nimbly back to his feet, but that last hit clinched Ushijima's win.

"Next," Shirabu says tiredly. 

Tendou walks off laughing and promising retribution. Ushijima predictably asks him how he plans to win when he's nowhere as strong or skilled. The day drags on as per usual, and by the end of the evening, Shirabu is no closer to a solution than he was when he woke up.

"Looking a little worn down there, Kenjirou-kun!" Tendou says, opting to come bother Shirabu rather than help wipe down the kwoon mats. "You oughta give us all numbers and just randomly assign us. Let luck do all your work!"

"And end up with a batch of graduates with scrambled eggs for brains? No, thank you." He doesn't know why he even indulges Tendou with a response sometimes. It just encourages him. "Do your cool downs before you leave," he orders. "You took a lot of hits from Ushijima today, and you don't want those doing any permanent damage."

"Eh," Tendou shrugs, rolling his weirdly flexible shoulders as he does so. "I think Wakatoshi and I might kick around in the kwoon for a while longer. I'm trying to get him to teach me that headlock." He winks one huge eye like this is some sort of secret and not a technique every cadet learns by week three.

"Whatever. Just wipe down the mats _ again _ when you're done. And don't injure yourself." Shirabu turns away and heads to LOCCENT to do some more number crunching. There has to be something he's missing here, hidden among the sim scores and drift tests.

He pours himself three cups of coffee and arranges them by his console, settling in for the night. He runs a couple more drift estimations and watches as numbers peak and graphs populate. He checks and double-checks his data, old and new, trying out new pairings and possible matchups to try in the morning. Three cups of coffee turn to four, and four turn to five before he sets aside Semi Eita and Kawanishi Taichi's files to test in the morning, and he starts to wonder if Tendou ever locked up.

Shirabu braces a foot against the edge of his desk and pushes off, gliding in his chair to the opposite end of the countertop. He waits a minute for the monitor there to warm up before punching in his passcode to the security system. His screen blurs, then focuses, as he shifts to the kwoon room cameras, and for a moment he thinks he's finally hallucinating from caffeine intake.

Tendou and Ushijima are still at it, bo staffs spinning and clashing, and Shirabu is filled with a potent rage. How dare Ushijima still have energy for this. He's been sparring all day, but clearly he hasn't been working hard enough if he can keep going this late into the night. Shirabu knocks back the dregs of his sixth cup and stomps down the corridors to the kwoon.

His card key beeps in the reader, and he comes in just as Ushijima sweeps Tendou off his feet again. The guy lands on his back _ hard_, so hard that his head hits and actually bounces, but he rolls up to his knees and would probably still try to get a strike in if Shirabu wasn't about to interrupt first.

"Ushijima! Tendou! Pack it in! It's almost 3 a.m. and you each have more sparring rounds tomorrow." He narrows his eyes at both of them. "Wipe down the mats, Ushijima. And _ you _… do your cool down stretches. I'll know if you don't."

"Ooh! Scary!" Tendou chirps. He turns toward Ushijima, and true to the documentation Shirabu has spent hours populating, his every move is fluid and loose, despite the bruising. "Next time for _ sure_, Wakatoshi-kun!"

"The score was 48 to 3," says Ushijima matter-of-factly. "Statistically speaking, it's unlikely that—"

Shirabu doesn't hear the rest because he's already out the door.

It isn't until he's back at LOCCENT that it really sinks in. Forty-eight? An impressive number of wins, true, and a definite sign of Ushijima's strength. But in anyone else, an unbalanced score like that would indicate a depressingly low chance of drift compatibility. On a whim, Shirabu pulls up Tendou's file again. Sure enough, he and Ushijima have a predicted compatibility of only 15%. It was obvious too, in how Tendou rarely takes sparring seriously and how he is never able to remain standing for more than a minute at a time.

Also, drifting with Ushijima was simple _ statistically _ but potentially deadly _ realistically_. And drifting with Tendou? A veritable nightmare. If not for Washijou's insistence, Shirabu would have dropped him long ago.

Still, something is calling to him. Something beyond numbers and data projections.

Because Ushijima may have knocked Tendou down forty-eight times. But that means there were forty-nine times he got back up.

* * *

Shirabu had only been at the job for six months when it happened.

He was overseeing test drifts between candidates, same as usual, when Tendou Satori had walked into the room. He looked completely different today. His hair was down from its unconventional red spikes to fit better into the PONS headset, and if Shirabu didn't know better, he'd think he was almost… nervous. It showed in little ways, like how the circles under his eyes were darker than usual or how his long, bony fingers picked at invisible hangnails as the J-Tech crew set everything up.

His test partner, Yamagata Hayato, was also lacking his gelled hairstyle, but seemed relatively at ease in comparison.

"Alright," Shirabu said as he got two thumbs up from Akaashi and Kozume, showing that the cadets were ready. "Remember your training. Let the memories flow by. Don't get hung up. Don't chase the rabbit. Relax into your partner. This is just a test." He flipped on the activation switches, knowing his team was prepping behind him. "Initiating neural handshake in three… two… one…"

Standard procedure. He'd done it almost twenty times today alone.

The twin graphs on his monitor spasmed to life, weaving closer and closer to each other before intertwining. The waves were supposed to line up, but instead, something went wrong. Sine wave met cosine wave and then Tendou's jumped and flickered into ridiculous shapes that defied mathematics. Shirabu actually gave the side of his console a good kick, assuming the display was the one at fault.

Undeterred, Tendou's brain waves coiled around Yamagata's and veered, dragging them out of the typical axis and dropping out of view.

"Hold it!" Shirabu called over the rapidly growing din of stressed technicians behind him. "What's going on? We're losing them!"

"Yamagata's chasing the rabbit, sir!" shouted Futakuchi. He was desperately slamming the escape key on his keyboard, trying to close the terminal. "He's not so much chasing it as— I think Tendou's got him somehow!"

Shirabu spun to look at the duo wearing the PONS gear. Yamagata was starting to hyperventilate, brow furrowed and nails digging into the armrests of his seat. Next to him, Tendou sat serenely. He was slumped low in the chair, and his spine curved unnervingly at the base where his long legs spilled out, akimbo. 

Moniwa popped up from behind his holographic projection screen. His curls were a mess from where he'd been running a hand through them. "Sir, Tendou's shoving him down the rabbit hole!"

"Someone get him out of there," Shirabu commanded. "I want J-Tech on standby! The moment he's cognizant, I want those things ripped off their heads. And _ someone _start telling me how the hell this happened!"

It took an hour and a half to get Yamagata out. When they pried the smoking PONS off him, he was shaky and dehydrated and adrenaline-sick all at once.

"Where— What—" he croaked. Then he locked eyes with Tendou. "Where the fuck were _ your _ memories?" His voice was a dry whisper, but it felt like it filled the room. Then the medical team arrived and led him away.

Tendou sat frozen in his seat. His normal smile was nowhere to be found.

With great hesitation, Shirabu let Tendou try again the next week, this time with an experienced drifter. Kyoutani Kentarou, one half of Canis Successor, was willing to give it a shot. But once again, Tendou's brain waves commandeered the drift and stuffed Kyoutani into the metaphorical barrel. Kozume called in the guy's co-pilot, Yahaba Shigeru, and they managed to drag him to the surface after only forty-five minutes.

"—the _ shit _ was that?" Kyoutani snapped. "Your brain is fucked _ up. _" 

"Hey now," said Yahaba, trying to lead him away. "Let's not—"

"I've never seen anything like that. And I had to try drifting with dozens of people, including _ Oikawa_."

Shirabu ordered copies of every printout on the two events, determined to prevent a third, but when Tendou managed to send both the Torpor Gemini pilots, Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro, chasing the rabbit, as well as two more fellow cadets, it was time to pull the plug.

"Get your head on straight, and _ then _ you can try again," Shirabu said. "This isn't about thinking outside the box. It's about learning to let someone else in."

"Yeah, man," added Yamagata, who had more than proven his mental resilience by remaining friendly with Tendou despite their experience, "I think the first thing I noticed was how quickly you went through my mind, without ever showing me yours."

"I feel like I need to change all my passwords," Hanamaki quipped, as Matsukawa nodded along solemnly. "And any security questions that ask for the name of my primary school or the street I grew up on."

Cadets started calling Tendou the Mind-Reader, and he leaned a little too heavily into the role. Shirabu was never able to tell if it was because he adored the attention or if it was to hide his own discomfort at his low compatibility score. Either way, the guy had an uncanny ability to say unnerving things that _ felt _like borderline mind-reading. Coupled with his eerie, elongated form, the way his eyes swiveled, and his particular habit of letting his head tilt and dangle on his neck, Shirabu could honestly say he earned the other nickname that really stuck with him: the Guess-Monster.

"He'll eat your brain alive," said one of his test partners at lunch one day. "It's like your thoughts get pulled into a black hole and gravity stretches them out. I swear he saw every childhood nightmare, every dinner I ever ate… But on his end? Nothing. Not even a glimpse of a memory."

The other shuddered and set down his chopsticks with shaking hands. "If a mirror maze could live inside a person, that would be Tendou."

Two tables behind them, Tendou smiled blandly with half-lidded eyes, then got up to put his food tray away.

* * *

There's an attack. A Category-III kaiju that Shirabu will get around to naming when it's _ not _ currently threatening the whole of Sendai, thank you very much.

Torpor Gemini and Canis Successor are currently still holding the Miracle Mile, but it's getting dicier by the minute. Goshiki is practically vibrating next to Shirabu — since apparently no one has told him not to clutter LOCCENT up with his unnecessary presence, a task Shirabu would normally be all too willing to assist with if he wasn't otherwise occupied. Goshiki is babbling on and on about how he wants to help out, what with the fact that he, Ohira, and Yamagata have been matched up as a perfect set of triple drift partners.

"You don't have a jaeger yet because a three-person conn-pod has to be custom-made, so get out of the way of those people who _ can _fight," Shirabu snaps, rolling backward in his chair to grab his cup of coffee and avoid Goshiki all at once.

"Who?" asks Goshiki, genuinely baffled. "I'm the only pilot in here."

_ And for good reason, _ Shirabu thinks before saying, "Me. It's me. _ I'm _trying to fight here."

"From Tokyo? On land?" It's not asked with any malicious intent, but it bumps up against Shirabu's sensitive pride and the thread of sanity he's clinging to after two all-nighters in a row and a national emergency on his caffeine-shaky hands.

"This is how I fight, Goshiki. I don't need the flashing lights or cameras after the fact. My job is to keep the pilots alive so they can do the job and get the glory for me."

Goshiki frowns. "Are you okay?"

If he could get away with one crime, just one, it would be to hide Goshiki away somewhere he'd never be found. But since Shirabu can't do that, he settles for smacking a hand against his screen to indicate the rising Kaiju signature, even as he radioes the jaegers to warn them.

"He's on our left!" shouts Hanamaki, and then their signal glitches and pops as they take a massive hit.

"Status report?" Shirabu asks.

"Minor structural damage to the hull," Matsukawa says back. "We're taking some water but not excessive amounts."

"Okay, keep me posted. Canis, how's it coming on pinpointing its attack method?"

"It's circling us from afar, getting some speed, then striking." Yahaba's connection is fuzzy. Their jaeger has taken multiple catastrophic blows already, and Shirabu swears he can hear the way their left foot is dragging along the ocean floor. Every now and then Kyoutani's grunt of pain and exertion makes it through the transmission too. "I don't know, LOCCENT. Gemini isn't built for agility, and with only one good leg, Canis isn't up for it either. How much longer for backup?"

Shirabu stands and spins toward the rest of his crew. "ETA on Brawn and Forte?"

Futakuchi drops the papers he was holding with his mouth to reply. "Still fifteen out."

"You got ten minutes," Shirabu lies. "Think you can hold on?"

"Well, we're not dead yet," Hanamaki spits through gritted teeth, and then he and Matsukawa give near-identical yells as they take a swipe at the kaiju.

"Canis, watch your six," Shirabu warns a half-second later.

There are crashes and splashes, and Shirabu is rolling his chair all over LOCCENT, grabbing readouts and checking in on the progress of their backup. Canis Successor ends up dead in the water after a hull leak drenches their turbine, and though Yahaba and Kyoutani are still nominally safe inside, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have their hands more than full trying to protect both the coast and the other pilots.

Fortunately it seems Shirabu's ten minute estimate wasn't so bad after all, because the quick and nimble Forte Winsome hurdles the fallen jaeger to join the action.

"Brawn is less than three away," Ranger Shimizu Kiyoko says while the kaiju starts circling again. "Canis, can you move?"

"Negative, Forte," Shirabu replies. "Their comms are down too. Do what you can, but remember. Priority is Sendai and the safety of the population."

"Sorry to interrupt, but I think it's using its momentum and size to do a majority of the damage," says Yachi Hitoka, the other Forte pilot.

"Watch out for the talons too," Matsukawa warns. "But yeah. The bulk of its attacks are from it throwing its weight around."

Shirabu nearly launches out of his chair. "Gemini! 3 o'clock! Incoming!"

The warning isn't quite fast enough, because while Forte Winsome is able to leap over the speeding kaiju, the other jaeger can't move in time. Hanamaki's howl of pain echoes through LOCCENT, and Shirabu watches the neural link fracture and fail.

"Takahiro!" Matsukawa is shouting. "Hiro! Hey! Come on!"

No matter how many times it happens, Shirabu will never get over hearing typically collected pilots lose their composure. The rasp to Matsukawa's voice has him frozen, hand suspended over his console, ready to reinitiate a drift if Hanamaki can regain consciousness.

LOCCENT falls silent, waiting for the inevitable. For shouts to turn to sobs. Then for the crunch of metal and the sharp static of a permanently lost signal. Shirabu keeps his eyes on the kaiju signature. He has to give Forte every millisecond of heads-up that he can. But he listens too. Matsukawa's calls waver and fade out to rapid breathing.

"Damn…" The reply is weak, but it's there. "That fucking _ hurt. _" Hanamaki's alive. They haven't lost a pilot. Yet.

Shimizu and Yachi deal heavy damage to the kaiju's ribcage, digging the serrated edge of their knee plates into its side as it passes. The monster smashes into Canis Successor, and judging by the way the water is frothing above it, the hull is starting to take water _ fast, _putting a serious time limit on their battle.

Then Sawamura and Sugawara finally show up in Brawn Agrestal, and with Sugawara screaming wildly, they slice through the kaiju's tough dermis before using their jaeger's dextrous hands to tear into it. Forte leaps on top of its flailing body, battering it from above, and while Shirabu track the signature closely, he also relinks Matsukawa and Hanamaki. They groan as the pain is passed and shared between them, before half-limping, half-crawling to start rescuing Kyoutani and Yahaba from their flooding conn-pod.

The tension is killing Shirabu's back, but he'll be damned if he isn't determined to hunch over and stare at the kaiju energy spike until it vanishes for good. When it fades at last, he joins the rest of LOCCENT in cheering, and he's so relieved, he even gives Goshiki a one-armed hug to celebrate.

"Look," Goshiki says, lifting Shirabu's wrists. "They don't shake. They're nice and steady."

Shirabu gapes at him, only allowing it because of his utter exhaustion and happiness.

"Your hands are steady," Goshiki repeats. "You may not be out there, but there's a reason we get in those jaegers with confidence. And it's because we know you're in _ here _ to take care of us."

Shirabu pulls back, blowing air through his fringe in a weak imitation of anger. "Yeah, well… New rangers who have never been on missions don't get to say cool things like that."

And he pretends the only reason he's smiling is because Goshiki is stammering out an apology.

* * *

"We're down two jaegers right now," Washijou says sharply. "And even if both Akaashi _ and _Kozume's teams work 'round the clock to get them back up, I've got a pilot with a concussion and a broken arm and two pilots with pneumonia." He drops his datapad onto the table with a hard slap. "Please explain to me, how exactly was this a victory?"

Wisely, none of the chief staff respond.

After a heavy sigh that reminds them all of his age, Washijou rubs his forehead with one hand as he sits back in his chair. "Kenjirou. Give me some good news. Who do we have incoming?"

"The three-person jaeger is scheduled to be completed by tomorrow. Akaashi told me it's top priority right now, even over repairs, so we should have Yamagata, Ohira, and Goshiki ready within twenty-four hours."

"Good. Good."

"Kawanishi and Semi held a stable handshake for the full sixty minutes yesterday, so we'll be assigning them to the only completed jaeger we have left, Lone Neglect. They'll be ready this afternoon."

"Excellent. Anyone else?"

Shirabu frowns and swipes his screen rapidly. "In a pinch I've got Tsukishima and Yamaguchi on deck, and even though tests remain inconclusive, Kindaichi and Kunimi might be able to hold a connection. Again, these are for emergencies only. And we don't have jaegers for them until Canis and Gemini are back to being drop-ready."

"And Ushijima?"

Everyone in the room turns slightly to face Shirabu. He doesn't allow himself to crack under pressure in LOCCENT, so he sure as hell won't now. "There's something I'd like to try with him. I know it's risky, but putting anyone into a conn-pod with him would be."

Washijou eyes him like he had a handful of years ago, before he appointed him to a high-ranking job Shirabu thought he'd have no business taking. "Tell me what it is you want to try."

"I'd like to have him drift with Tendou, sir."

"Satori? And Ushijima?"

The rest of the table murmurs quietly between themselves. Shirabu knows it's crazy, but he's also determined to try it.

"I think Ushijima needs someone who can stand up to his neural load. Tendou might not match him strength-wise in the kwoon, but he's resilient. Flexible. I think he can handle the weight."

Washijou does not look amused. "And what about the other way around. Can Ushijima avoid chasing the rabbit? Satori has dragged down some powerful drifters before."

Here was the point where Shirabu has to admit to his observational theory. "I think Sa— I mean, I think Tendou's mind is looking for amusement. I think he rips through people's minds out of curiosity and boredom."

"And you don't think this will apply to Ushijima?"

"I think that just _ drifting _ with Ushijima will be enough excitement for him."

Against all odds, Washijou's expression relaxes and opens. "Okay. No time like the present. Call them up."

Suddenly the idea doesn't seem as well put together as it had been. Shirabu considers retracting his statement. After all, this could be incredibly risky for Tendou's physical health as well as Ushijima's mental health. But in the end he can't get himself to say anything, so he just nods and heads toward LOCCENT.

Dr. Kuroo is sitting on one of the desks in the command center, arguing with Dr. Yaku about godknowswhat. They start hissing a variety of chemistry words at one another, in the same tone as one might use for insults, so Shirabu shoos them out and tells them to go chop open a kaiju or something.

He pours yet another cup of coffee and checks a third tallymark on his "days since last sleep" sticky note, before okaying the transport of Lone Neglect to the dropbay. 

"How long on the new jaegers, Kozume?" Shirabu asks via loudspeaker to the J-Tech crew below.

Akaashi picks up the intercom line from the hanger floor, and Kozume speaks to him for a moment before he relays it back to LOCCENT. "The new jaegers are on hold until we finish repairs, but if you can get this team ready for drop, we can have one new unit completed before we get back to Canis and Gemini."

"Roger that," Shirabu says. He hopes this will work. He just wants to get Ushijima out there. In the field. In some meaningful capacity. It would restore hope in the PPDC, the jaeger program, and even the general safety of Japan. He knows it will _ definitely _ brighten some faces around the Tokyo Shatterdome too.

Two cups of coffee into his morning, Ushijima and Tendou finally walk out. They're fully harnessed into the default white drivesuits, though neither have their helmets on. Shirabu takes a long look at Tendou as the pair steps into Lone Neglect's conn-pod. _ This could be the last time I see him alive, _ he thinks darkly. _ And it'll be completely my fault if it is. _

This whole experiment is based off of an estimated 15% success rate from compatibility models that have been used for nearly a decade, a total score of 62 to 5 from hours of kwoon room time, and the wild hope in Shirabu's mind that this might maybe, possibly, work. At this point he can't tell if he's so exhausted he can't see how foolish this is, or if he's so tired he's made a breakthrough in Ushijima's case that he'd never have been able to tackle while properly rested.

"They're ready," Moniwa says from behind him. Shirabu jolts and turns to see that the rest of LOCCENT has filed into the room, prepared to work. The Marshal stands there too, hands behind his back as he stares down his nose at both Shirabu and the two rangers-in-training who are currently in the jaeger, behind the glass. Against the wall and hidden in the shadows stand several of the others. Ohira has an arm around both Goshiki and Yamagata protectively, and Sugawara and Sawamura are quietly beside them in a similar position. Even Matsukawa and Hanamaki are there, though Hanamaki's arm is bandaged and secured tightly to his side. He's leaning into his drift partner, seemingly unconsciously, and Shirabu remembers that the only thing about piloting that LOCCENT will never replace is having someone who you can completely and utterly trust.

He drags his eyes away and swigs from a coffee mug hidden behind a stack of notebooks. The drink is frigid and clearly old, but it's what he needs.

"Okay. Pilots? Confirm comms, please."

"Check," Ushijima says firmly. He doesn't even sound concerned about the very possible outcome of this going south, though Shirabu really hasn't heard him be affected by anything thus far.

"That's a copy!" trills Tendou, also unbothered by the idea of his approaching death. "May I just say, it's _ lovely _ having your melodious voice in my head—"

Shirabu interrupts him before he can pick up any speed. "Pilots, get ready. Initiating neural handshake." 

Handshake. Hand. Shake.

Unbidden, he glances down at his fingers, flipping switches and readying the drift sync. Goshiki was right. They aren't trembling a bit.

"Relay gel dispensed. Commencing neural link in three…" He thinks of Tendou's dorky smile, with too much lip and too wide of eyes. "Two…" He thinks of Ushijima, powering his way through several connections, overloading his co-pilot's minds. "One…" And he thinks of Soekawa. Of the gurney. Of the first non-kaiju-related death on base in almost three years. "Zero."

The graphs appear. Everyone is focused. He rolls backward to grip the main power cord of LOCCENT, ready to pull the plug at a moment's notice.

Ushijima's sine waves hold steady, then peak suddenly. They multiply and dwarf the scribbled ball that represents Tendou's mind, squashing it from existence. Red pop-ups flare across the LOCCENT screens.

"Reading critical systems failure in Suit 2!" Futakuchi shouts.

"Same here! We're at high-risk for brain hemmorage!" 

"Suit 1 levels are spiking!"

Shirabu pulls the plug, plunging LOCCENT into darkness, but outside, Lone Neglect's conn-pod is still bright. It's running on its own power, connected to their drift.

"Pull them apart!" Washijou is yelling, but if Shirabu could, he would. He slaps on his console's backup generator, bringing up the drift graphs again. He's trying to break the link, but Ushijima is too strong. It's Soekawa all over again, and he still can't fix the problem.

Ushijima's brain waves even out again, unable to actually move a jaeger on their own. Tendou's side of the screen remains blank.

"Tendou? Ushijima?" Shirabu says into their comms. "Do either of you copy?"

"Yes." There's strain there. In Ushijima's voice. Enough to be noticeable, especially in him. "Yes, I'm— I think that Tendou—"

He cuts off with a choke that Shirabu actually assumes is a rare sign of emotion, but then Moniwa squawks too, pointing at the graph, and Shirabu can only gape in horror as Tendou's frenzied lines explode out of nowhere, rising from below the x-axis, coiling around Ushijima's and tugging him under.

"Oh, shit," Shirabu breathes. "He's chasing the rabbit." He rolls backward down the aisle, ignoring the worried and pitying faces of the pilots around him. "Someone get medical down there to pull them out ASAP! This is all so fucked up…"

They sit for nearly ten minutes, watching Tendou's mind suck Ushijima's down into oblivion, and then the strange things continue. If a line on a graph could flex, Shirabu would swear that's what Ushijima's did. But instead of flexing free, it pushes further under. It writhes and twitches with Tendou's, growing bigger and bigger with it, until the two are completely entangled. They spasm on the screen like a child's attempt at animating noodles, and it's impossible to tell where each one ends.

Then slowly… painfully slowly… the waves even out. They relax and grow consistent, moving in a singular brainwave that Shirabu can hardly believe he's looking at.

"N-Neural handshake holding… at… at 100%," he breathes. "Tendou? Ushijima? Do either of you read me?"

"Loud and clear," comes the reply, and it's not just one of them. It's both of them. Speaking together.

Shirabu realizes his jaw is hanging open. He has to ask them to go through some basic tests. Waving. Clapping. That sort of thing. But before he can send instructions, the jaeger outside stiffens its legs and bends at the waist, hands flared outward, in an incredibly Tendou-esque mannerism of glancing at its own body.

"Ooh! I love it!" Tendou cackles over comms. "Is this one ours?"

"No," Ushijima answers, and the drift must handle the rest, because Tendou doesn't ask further questions. He just hums his understanding.

The jaeger takes a few small steps in a circle, arms swinging casually like its a 70 kilogram human and not over 6,400 metric tons of a killing machine. The powerful left hook it throws in the empty air is all Ushijima, but the way the conn-pod swivels dangerously back in amusement is definitely Tendou.

They mess around in the unit for a while longer, easily passing the 60-minute test without even a dip in connection. Finally Shirabu has to sever the tie, which is quick and easy due to how stable it is. 

His body is running on empty, exhausted by the stress of the last forty-eight hours. He lasts long enough to see them both step out of the jaeger. The way Tendou rips his helmet off, exposing his bright red hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. The way Ushijima sways toward him unconsciously, gripping at his upper arms like this is fine and they've always been this tactile in public.

And then the last molecules of adrenaline burn through his system, and Shirabu drops backward into darkness at last.

* * *

Shirabu had an idea.

Maybe it was a stupid one, but it was an idea all the same. He just couldn't get his mind off those forty-nine times. Tendou, stubborn Tendou who refused to march to the beat of anyone's drum but his own. Tendou, whose secret ability might have been his resilience and reaction speed, not his physical strength.

Shirabu flipped through his well-worn printout of Ushijima's file and tried to imagine it, them drifting. Ushijima needed someone who deferred to him and let him shoulder the load, but also someone who believed in themself firmly enough to know their own importance and who had their own talent to bring to the table. Tendou needed someone with power to help him focus and persist, even when the going got rough and it wasn't "fun" anymore.

Still, the models and algorithms disagreed. They predicted Tendou's brain death or Ushijima's unravelling. It was frustrating to look at. Could a human be smarter than a machine? Shirabu didn't mean himself, actually. He _ knew _ he was smarter than the computers. Shit, he'd helped update them on several occasions, and even if he didn't have the greatest of social skills, he knew how to read people. Years of matching compatible pilots taught you how.

No, what Shirabu wanted to know was if _ Tendou _ could outsmart a machine. Could the algorithms be wrong? It's not like he expected Dr. Yaku to have accounted for a brain like this one.

The 15% compatibility reading taunted him from the page.

"I'm taking a break," he said, standing and walking away from his console.

"Yep," replied Futakuchi blandly. He didn't look up from his own screen, fingers flying to input data that was casting a sickly blue light on his face.

Shirabu stepped out into the hall and just breathed for a moment. He hadn't been to his room in a while, and if he was being honest, he could probably do with a shower and change of clothes. He set off to do just that, wistfully remembering his brief days as a cadet and how nice it had been to fill his days with physical exertion and end them with a shower and a decently soft bed.

The bunks weren't perfect, but they sure beat slumping over the desk at LOCCENT for three hours a night.

Maybe he needed a good run, something to wear him out and work his muscles. Lately, the exercise he'd been getting boiled down to hollering his lungs out in the kwoon or pushing off a desk to glide across the floor in his chair.

The entrance to the gym wasn't far from his room, so he took a detour first, figuring it was better to sweat now than after a shower. It had been a while since he'd worked out, so Shirabu hoped that the gym would be fairly empty. He got enough laughter as a trainee. He sure didn't need any more now.

Fortunately, there were only two people in the gym when he arrived. Unfortunately, one of them was Ushijima. And even _ more _unfortunately, the other was Tendou. Shirabu almost turned around and walked back out.

Instead he stood there, frozen by the doors indecisively, watching the two of them at one of the treadmills. Tendou stood on the front of the machine, leaning his lanky arms on the display, his feet spread to balance on the edges where the belt wasn't rotating. Meanwhile, Ushijima was running at a full sprint. His form was impeccable, with little to no vertical movement. Just the steady slap of his shoes on the treadmill and the whisper of fabric as his arms pumped back and forth.

The two of them were talking, or at least, Tendou was. Over the hum of the machine, Shirabu could hear occasional words like _ kaiju _ and _ scoring _ and _ kwoon_, but he had no idea what the actual topic of discussion was.

For the most part, the other pilots avoided Ushijima. It wasn't that he was disliked — quite the opposite in fact — it was more that he intimidated them. His strength as a fighter was impressive enough, without adding his reputation for burning people's brains out with his overwhelming willpower. Choosing to avoid him was done more out of respect, like the others knew he was a league above them.

But Tendou never let things like that stop him, and if anything, the lack of interaction with Ushijima only encouraged him to seek the guy out. He was drawn to him, over and over, and either Ushijima didn't mind the company or he simply couldn't shake his obstinate shadow.

_Immovable object, meet unstoppable force, _Shirabu joked to himself, and then his eyes widened. That was it. The common cliche, but right before his eyes. The reason no computer could properly simulate the pair drifting. Perfect balance and equal strength in opposite ways. The derivative of any vertical line was undefined, and maybe the computers couldn't see the implications of that like Shirabu could.

He watched for a minute longer, and it no longer felt like they were intruding on his hope for a personal gym session, and instead it felt like _ he _ was the interloper, walking in on their private time alone.

Tendou said something and laid his head on his arms as he did so, looking for all the world like he might doze off right here on the front of the treadmill. And, after a pause and small stumble, Ushijima turned his head to the side and gave a soft huff of amusement. For him, it might have even been a laugh.

And so Shirabu's idea grew and grew. He started watching them closer in the kwoon when they sparred, and if either party noticed how often he started throwing them together, they certainly didn't comment on it. The only person who did was Tsukishima, who Shirabu overheard at the water station, expressing relief that it wasn't _ him _ being used as a living mat mop by Ushijima.

"Taichi! Don't just stand there or he'll knock you flat!" Tendou shouted from the sidelines. "At least _ try _ to block him!"

"Like anyone could've blocked that…" Kawanishi mumbled, and Shirabu watched the way his gaze shot to the side to meet Semi's, as if looking for amusement or approval. Semi just looked constipated, but Shirabu was used to seeing him look like that. It meant anything from frustration over being one of the oldest people to finally graduate, to actual humor over Kawanishi's blasé defeat.

Those two meshed well together, and if Shirabu had been less professional, he might have included his reasoning in the drift test suggestion he'd written up. It was no secret that Semi harbored some jealousy over Shirabu's age. He _ was _ fairly young when he'd signed up to be a pilot, and then Washijou had pulled him from the system early and given him a high-level position that he'd maintained for years. In contrast, Semi had joined the PPDC as a late starter, and his inability to stop showing off his personal ability and just learn to lean on a drift partner had prolonged his cadet years beyond the average.

In a similar capacity, Kawanishi had some hangups of his own. He hadn't gotten along well with the other cadets in his room. His unwillingness to show external emotion had started to separate him from his peers to a noticeable degree. So Tendou had taken him under his wing, despite being older, and had managed to pass off some of his natural intuition. While he made a decent enough sparring partner, Tendou was also a truly brilliant coach. He'd helped Kawanishi practice trusting his instincts, and while his style was still partially his own, there were moments when Shirabu could see Tendou's impact in the way Kawanishi took his sparring stance or how he bent to dodge a blow.

While the mentoring had improved his scores, it hadn't fixed his social problems. Kawanishi was called a suck-up on multiple occasions, and it didn't feel like the friendly jests some of the cadets threw at one another. Everyone knew that Tendou hung around _ the _ Ushijima Wakatoshi, and especially if Shirabu _ did _manage to get the two to drift… Kawanishi was going to have some big shoes to fill.

_ Inferiority complexes attract, _ Shirabu thought bitterly. _ They both want to prove that they have value of their own. Semi wants to be known for his personal abilities and not his age, while Kawanishi wants to prove he has his own style and isn't just Tendou two-point-oh. _

Kawanishi's face slid across the mat so hard that the skin squeaked. He slapped a hand over the red mark with a hiss before surrendering and walking off the sparring area. Semi quietly followed him, and Ushijima called for his next opponent.

"Get some water, Ushijima," Shirabu said. "Yamagata. I want to see you and Ohira have a go."

There were some chuckles in the kwoon at the obvious height difference as the two stepped onto the mats. They were a fun duo to watch, that was for sure. There was almost something polite about their give-and-take, but it paled in comparison to the increase in aggression as they grew more and more competitive. But today Shirabu didn't want to focus on them.

He watched off to the side, where Goshiki stood, following them with wide eyes, brows drawn together in rapt attention.

Three-person drifts were fairly uncommon, but Shirabu was curious. And hell, compared to his wild fantasy of throwing Tendou and Ushijima together? This matchup was practically normal.

He made a note on his clipboard. Maybe the next time he was dangerously sleep-deprived or riding a post-kaiju-attack high he'd have the courage to bring his theory up.

* * *

"Initiating neural handshake," Shirabu drawls into the mic. They've done this countless times, but his heart still drops when he watches Tendou's brainwaves shrink away then reappear. He still holds his breath as the lines choke Ushijima's, and he still can't relax until they waver into a perfect drift. The settling is faster with every mission, but it doesn't get much easier for his anxiety that _ this time _ it won't work.

"Drift is firm and holding," he says. "Pilots, get ready for the drop."

The conn-pod snaps into place on the body of the jaeger, and the bay doors open wide to air-lift the machine out. It's flying down toward Mt. Fuji, where a Category-III is closing in fast. The Miracle Mile was broken about half an hour ago, and LOCCENT has lost contact with the choppers reporting back the current location of the kaiju. 

"LOCCENT, handshake status?" ask Ushijima and Tendou in tandem. Shirabu hates it when they do that. Still, he frowns at the question and leans toward his holographic screen.

"Staying strong at 100%. Why?"

"It feels different," Ushijima says cryptically.

"Only a hundred?" laughs Tendou. "Today it feels like 120%!"

Shirabu narrows his eyes. "Should we cut it and try again?"

"No," answers Ushijima quickly. "We're in unusually good form right now."

"Yeah! I can really feel you in here," Tendou says.

Shirabu grits his teeth. "Okay, I think we understand. Let us know if something feels wrong. Stanchion Fable will get first contact with the kaiju, so they'll need backup immediately. We cannot let this fight go too far inland." The residents have already been evacuated into bunkers, but if the damage spreads, Shirabu could end up seeing kaiju action in-person, which is something he'd like to avoid.

He swivels in his chair to rescan for the kaiju signature. Nothing still.

"Fable, I don't suppose either of you see the kaiju yet?"

"No," says Tanaka Saeko, though the typically exuberant ranger sounds oddly choked.

"We uh… We found the helicopters though," Tsukishima Akiteru murmurs.

They send an image through to LOCCENT, and Shirabu looks at it for a second before swiping it shut. "Copy that. Keep on mission. Proceed as planned." He can almost feel their hesitation, that instinctive urge to check for the survivors that clearly don't exist.

"Understood," Tanaka finally says. That edge creeps back in her voice again. 

Both she and Tsukishima have lost their co-pilots before. Tanaka was one of the original rangers. She'd piloted a Mark-II jaeger, Chiisana Kyojin, with Udai Tenma for nearly three years before his death. That had been long before Shirabu's time in the PPDC, but her reputation had made her one of the most famous pilots this side of the Pacific Rim. Tanaka had been the first big name to openly oppose the Anti-Kaiju Wall, and watching her post-battle interviews had actually been Shirabu's introduction to the idea of joining the jaeger program.

Meanwhile, Tsukishima's loss had been more recent. Shirabu still doesn't know the details, really, just that whatever had happened had nearly caused the younger brother, Kei, to drop out entirely. Shirabu had been in the middle of trying to approve him and Yamaguchi as co-pilots, when the whole cafeteria had gotten an eyeful of Tsukishima being hauled around by the front of his shirt. Yamaguchi had singlehandedly shut down his complaints about the futility of the jaeger fight, ranting about the merits of pride and giving your all.

The younger Tsukishima hadn't quit, and the duo had been assigned a jaeger the next day.

Tragically, said jaeger is also currently in shambles, torn to near shreds by a Category-II the week prior. So Kei is standing in the back of LOCCENT, trying and failing to act nonchalant as his older brother nears the target. Shirabu doesn't really like the guy, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel for him either. Besides, Yamaguchi is next to him, doing all the visible worrying for the pair, and isn't _ that _ just nauseating.

"Kaiju spotted!" Tanaka shouts abruptly. "Transmitting coordinates and preparing for contact!"

"Go get em, Fable," Shirabu returns. He taps his fingers anxiously on the desk, waiting for the satellites to adjust and send him the kaiju signatures.

This is the worst part of any mission: the waiting. LOCCENT is silent and still. Everyone is poised to leap into action the moment a byte of data pops up on their screen, but until then, it's all patience. They can hear the grunts and thuds of action. Tsukishima calls for shielding, and Tanaka screeches something only comprehensible to the person sharing a brain with her right now. There's the hiss of a laser baton smashing into kaiju flesh and a roar that rattles the glass panes around Shirabu's console.

Nova Hyperion, on loan from South Korea, is next to arrive on the scene. They help battle the monster back, pushing it toward the coastline, when Shirabu finally gets a blip from the radar. He leans forward anxiously, but the signal turns out to be a false positive nearly eight miles south of the actual action. He grips the edge of his desk and continues to wait. The spinning circle that indicates satellite recalibration is taunting him, he swears.

Behind him, Moniwa speaks into his headset. "We're setting you two down about three miles off the beach. That'll give you time to get your footing before Nova and Fable reach your location."

Even if the kaiju isn't on his screen yet, Ushijima and Tendou are. Their jaeger, Port Clairvoyant, is rapidly approaching the drop-point.

"Roger that!"

The radar spot turns green as they land.

"Lovely day at sea," Tendou laughs. Shirabu envies his mental fortitude. He wishes he had the capability to stay positive while the country implodes before him, not that he'd ever tell him that of course.

"Port, start heading toward land. You've got about ten minutes until combat." Shirabu taps at his screen as he speaks. The kaiju signature still isn't locking onto the target, so his timing is just a rough estimation right now. "Come _ on, _" he grumbles. The radar pin spasms around the screen, refusing to stabilize.

"Anyone else getting weird readings?" asks someone behind him, at the same time that Ushijima asks, "LOCCENT, are you seeing this?"

Then Shirabu's console finally chirps and locates a kaiju.

It's not the kaiju Nova and Fable are fighting. This kaiju is almost directly on top of Port Clairvoyant.

And it's a Category-IV.

* * *

After the Ushijima and Tendou experiment had worked out, Shirabu had become the talk of the Shatterdome, possibly of the whole PPDC.

Once he'd woken up, on the floor of LOCCENT no less, he'd managed to wobble his way to the Marshal's office.

"Well-rested, I presume?" Washijou had asked. His face was stern, but part of Shirabu wondered if it was an attempt at a joke. Either way he ignored it, like he did with any of the Marshal's questions.

"Did we do it?" he asked. "Did we find Ushijima a co-pilot?"

"No." His heart sank. "_ You _ did it."

Shirabu doubted he managed to keep the shock off his face for once.

"Provided Satori passes the medical examination, I think we're all willing to let them start logging the mandatory drift hours so we can finally stick them in a jaeger."

"Medical examination?"

Washijou snorted. "The guy _ did _experience temporary brain-death. Once the med-bay clears him for duty, we'll proceed."

"D-did he seem okay otherwise?" Shirabu stammered, embarrassingly.

"Well, it's Satori. Who can really tell?" Then the Marshal had picked up his tablet, signaling the end of the conversation, so Shirabu turned to go. "Oh, and Kenjirou? One last thing." Dark eyes peered out from under heavy brows. "If you push yourself until you pass out again, I'll throw you into the Breach myself."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

There was a final grunt, and then Shirabu actually left. He didn't really have plans for where he was headed, but his feet moved on their own until he reached the med-bay.

Yahaba and Kyoutani were inside, each letting out occasional wet coughs that reminded Shirabu of what they'd been through.

In the back, behind a drawn, white curtain, were Tendou and Ushijima. The former was dozing on the medical bed, hooked up to an EEG machine and still in his drivesuit. Ushijima had changed into workout gear, but he sat straight-backed to the side, gaze locked on Tendou's face. His knee was bouncing with uncharacteristic manic energy.

When Shirabu had cleared his throat lightly to announce his presence, Tendou's eyes had flicked open. The left one was bloodshot, with even the iris rimmed with red. Ushijima turned toward him, and in the bright lights of the room, Shirabu could see his matching right side.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Tendou just raised an eyebrow silently.

"I'm sorry I put you both through that. There wasn't any mathematical evidence that it would work, and I nearly killed you on a hunch—"

"Shirabu," Ushijima interrupted, but it was Tendou that continued.

"We _ knew, _Kenjirou-kun. You told us the risks, and we chose to take them. And hey! Look! It all worked out!" His voice was peppy, but the lack of energy in his body language told a different story.

Shirabu didn't answer for a while. He just stood and let the silence dig into his bones, wishing he'd sink through the floor.

"The strength of Wakatoshi's mind…" Tendou said at a near whisper. "I know it like, nearly killed me, but after feeling that? The power? That _ rush _ of looking down from our jaeger and knowing we could just _ demolish _ a kaiju?" He snickered a little. "I don't think I can be satisfied with a normal drift ever again."

A question burst from Shirabu's mouth, unbidden. "What did you see when you chased the rabbit?" He almost didn't expect an answer.

But Ushijima surprised him with one. "Tendou. His mind. His memories."

Shirabu had flashbacks to the reports and accounts from Tendou's failed drifts, all complaining that he never let them in deep enough to see anything. All saying that he just took and took and took from their minds without returning the favor. _ What was different? _ he thought. _ Was it just that Ushijima was strong enough to push past his modesty reflex? _

"See anything new and exciting?" Tendou asked. When he blinked, his good eye closed slightly faster than the other. It would heal. Probably.

"Not really," Ushijima said with a shrug. "You've told me most of it."

"Ah. Wakatoshi-kun, who only cares about himself…" Tendou trailed off, but there was finally a genuine smile on his face. "It's not a bad thing. I like that you aren't a snooper. And I like that you don't mind that I _ am. _" His eyes started to shut again, and the corner of his mouth folded down as if he was in pain.

Ushijima's knee bounced faster until it made the chair click quietly.

Shirabu's throat unlocked again. "Touch him," he said.

"What?" Tendou asked at the same time that Ushijima shot him a completely baffled look.

"Trust me. It'll help. With the ghost drift."

The two locked eyes, and then slowly, Tendou's spindly fingers uncurled from his side, reaching out off the bed. Ushijima's hand also lifted, and his long but solid digits intertwined with Tendou's own.

Shirabu had long been an expert in drift science and jaeger tech, and he'd seen this a hundred times before in both new and experienced pilots. But there was still something about it, about watching the tension and nervous energy drain from Ushijima's form and seeing the light return to Tendou's eyes as his chest filled with air. It was entrancing, like the thrill of completing an intricate puzzle.

It wasn't like Shirabu was part of their connection. He wasn't drift-compatible with either pilot, nor would he want to be. But this was still _ his _success. He might not have been one of the puzzle pieces, but he was sure as hell the one who'd finally completed it.

* * *

"Ushi— Ten— I mean Port!" Shirabu stammers, mixing his words in his haste to get them out. But it's too late. Both pilots shout as the massive kaiju topples Port Clairvoyant into the tumbling waves.

"What's going on?" Tanaka asks over the radio, but Shirabu leaves that for the others to answer. He's got a job to do. He throws a worried glance at the drift indicator, terrified that the connection might have shattered from the shock, but it's still at full-capacity; a true miracle right now.

"Port, you have _ got _ to get up. That thing will cave your conn-pod in like a cheap balloon."

"Look at the _ specs _on this thing!" Futakuchi breathes unhelpfully. "If these readings are accurate, that kaiju's got arms like sledgehammers."

"Which is exactly why you guys have to stand up _ now_."

Tendou's voice is almost unrecognizable with strain. "Doing… our best here…" he grunts.

Ushijima lets loose a deep growl that's equally unusual. He's typically a pretty silent pilot, but the sounds echoing from the speakers through LOCCENT indicate otherwise at the moment. Then there's a loud crunch, complimented by the sound of cracking glass. Tendou is eerily silent, which means all their communication is passing through the Drift for now. The crunch sounds again. Then again.

"I don't… I don't think we can shake it," Ushijima says, and Shirabu's palms slip on his keyboard with sweat. "LOCCENT, I don't think we can—"

Moniwa is trying to speak to him over the din. "Shirabu, the other jaegers…"

That's true. There are others out there to guide. LOCCENT isn't just in charge of one pair of rangers. Stanchion Fable and Nova Hyperion are still battling the first kaiju. Goshiki, Ohira, and Yamagata just touched down in Triplex Conscript, and Lone Neglect, piloted by Semi and Kawanishi, isn't far behind. This is what Shirabu has always wanted: the ability to fight kaiju with multiple jaegers.

It's not like he hasn't lost pilots before. But…

"Ushijima," Shirabu says sharply. "I have other jaegers that need my attention too. You once asked me if I had the courage to use you in combat no matter how risky, and I said that I did." He draws in a quick breath. "But doesn't that only apply for as long as you're still useful?"

For a second, LOCCENT actually goes almost quiet. 

Then Ushijima responds. "Yes. Of course."

Futakuchi is yelling instructions to Fable and Nova. Moniwa is still trying to get his attention, and the sounds of kaiju roars and jaeger punches crackle through the whole of mission control. But all Shirabu can see is the neural handshake skyrocketing. Pushing past 100% to 105%. Then rising higher and higher until it hits Tendou's estimated 120%, and then even above that.

Triplex gets within viewing range, and Shirabu unconsciously maximizes the view Goshiki is sending him. He, and the rest of LOCCENT, watch real time as Port Clairvoyant shoves up out of the water and bodyslams the kaiju to the ocean floor. Ushijima must be the one throwing the left hooks, but Tendou is holding his own, predicting the creature's every move and blocking its punches with the jaeger's shielding.

By the time Triplex does a Yamagata-style roll into the fray, Shirabu is free from his trance. He's back in the zone, and Moniwa is able to sit down and relax as he retakes charge of the fight.

The Category-III is killed by Tanaka. She drives her baton into it again and again, until the signature goes dark.

"Tell the others we're on our way," Tsukishima says, and then both Fable and Nova are moving at top speed toward the second kaiju.

Shirabu isn't sure they'll honestly need the help. The triple-jaeger is doing an amazing job at taking it out at the knees, and with Tendou guiding defense, Semi and Kawanishi are able to shine with their impressive attacks to the kaiju's skull and upper back.

The kaiju roars like the wounded beast that it is, and Goshiki lets out a whine into his mic. "Shut _ up, _" he snaps, and the third arm on his jaeger slams down onto its spine. 

It doesn't get back up, resting motionless in the ocean.

But the signature doesn't fade.

"Careful, Triplex. That kaiju's still hot," Shirabu warns.

"Copy that, LOCC—"

There's a pause and crackle of static.

"Triplex? Come in, Triplex? Port? Fable?" Shirabu scans the lights on his control board. "Koganegawa! Why the hell are all the comms down?"

The technician in question looks frenzied, shoving his chair aside to crawl under the desk for the wiring. "I-I don't know! I'm checking if it's a local issue!"

Shirabu panics. He slaps a half-full coffee mug across the room, where it shatters against the wall. "Someone tell me what's going on! I need visuals! I need live comms! I need—"

The door to LOCCENT opens, and Washijou walks in. It's probably because he saw the systems fail from his office, but Shirabu takes it as a mental reset for himself.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Center yourself, just like you practiced as a cadet.

Shirabu slaps his palms onto his face, hard enough to really feel the sting. When he opens his eyes, his mind is clearer.

"Kenjirou," the Marshal says, stopping beside him. There's a moment where he thinks he might get chewed out, but instead Washijou just sits down in an empty seat. "From the look on your face, I can tell you already know."

"Yes, sir." Shirabu reaches out for the loudspeaker unit to address the J-Tech crew below him. "I need choppers in the air _ now. _ I'll send the last known coordinates. Get me visuals while we reestablish comms." He turns toward Koganegawa. "How can I help? What do you need?"

Out in the ocean, Port Clairvoyant stumbles to its feet. The pilots desperately radio and receive no responses.

* * *

It didn't take Shirabu's skill to know that this pair was drift-compatible.

The kwoon was silent except for Semi's breathing and the whisper of Kawanishi's feet against the mats. The stillness stretched long, holding everyone in suspense, and then Semi struck, swinging his staff wide to catch Kawanishi's unprotected side.

"Focus," Semi snarked, and Kawanishi's eyes narrowed. Semi's next three attacks came in rapid succession, but they were blocked with ease, like Kawanishi had already known where each blow would fall.

"Relax," he said back.

The duo stepped around the mats again; even their footfalls happening in sync. Shirabu was practically choking on the mutual inferiority complexes radiating off of them. That desperation to shine… He'd never understand it. It wasn't crucial to him like it seemed to others. The only thing Shirabu ever wanted was to blend in the _ best_.

"Damn, Eita-kun is _ good, _" Tendou whispered to Yamagata.

"Yeah. I've never seen him like this before. Kawanishi's pretty incredible too."

"I know," said Tendou proudly. "I taught him that."

It was fortunate that Kawanishi was preoccupied with his sparring, because Shirabu was pretty sure hearing that would send him into fits. Internal fits, anyway.

If there was one thing Tendou did have right it was that Semi _ was _ doing well today. Other matchups were either too easy or too hard for him, and it seemed his attempts to use stunning moves backfired half the time. There was something about this, with Kawanishi, that let him bring out his best.

And wasn't that what drift-compatibility was all about?

Semi and Kawanishi were like flint and steel. Both were rough and unpolished, chunks broken off of a larger whole whose shadows they could never escape. But to each other they were just themselves, throwing sparks as Semi pinned Kawanishi and Kawanishi pinned Semi.

The battle for the last point was a flurry of bo staffs and kicking legs, and when it ended, Kawanishi holding Semi down by the neck, Shirabu saw, for the first time, a smile flicker across his face. Semi returned it with something borderline feral, promising revenge.

_ Drift-compatibility isn't about people being congruent angles, _ Shirabu remembered from a textbook he'd once read. _ Identical figures are useless in a fight. It's about being supplementary angles; two radically different parts that add up to a singular whole. _

Shirabu started to write up his drift-test form to petition for Kawanishi and Semi to be co-pilots. At the same time, he kept his eye on the next pair stepping up to spar — predictably, Ushijima and Tendou. The victor would be predictable too.

_ What are you lacking? _ Shirabu wondered, staring at Ushijima. _ Kawanishi wanted respect, and Semi wanted recognition. Goshiki wanted encouragement, Yamagata wanted stability, and Ohira just wanted to be needed. Tendou requires more direction, whether he wants it or not. But what about you? _

He thought about Semi and Kawanishi's sparks and amplified them to metaphorical lightning for Ushijima. Pure power that was too strong to handle.

The answer was simple, like this. A lightning rod.

Ushijima required endurance. Resilience. Elasticity.

Out on the mat, Tendou was sent crashing to the ground. Then he curled upward and leaped back onto his feet, gesturing with one hand: _ come and get me. _

Shirabu lowered his clipboard to watch. He could finish the form tomorrow.

* * *

"Approaching the coordinates now," says one of the helicopter pilots. Akaashi swears he picked his best people for this mission, and Shirabu has never had any reason to doubt him.

On the largest holo-display in LOCCENT, everyone watches with baited breath as the visuals clear, as well they can now that night has fallen. There are four hulking shapes marring the water's surface, and the head pilot, Bokuto Koutarou, shines a beam across them. It's a testament to how professional Shirabu's people are when no one gasps as Triplex Conscript's form snaps into focus. It's a testament to their humanity that there _ are _ murmurs when Lone Neglect and Stanchion Fable also emerge.

For a heartbeat, Shirabu's inner bias desperately makes itself known, but when the spotlight illuminates Nova Hyperion, he can't decide whether he's disappointed or relieved.

"Hello? Anyone home?" Bokuto asks as they fly closer, and Akaashi groans quietly into his hand, leading Shirabu to wonder if maybe he _ should _ have doubts about his choices.

Then distress flares shoot off of Fable's half-submerged conn-pod. The light swivels and reveals Tanaka and Tsukishima, both leaping up and down, waving their arms wildly.

"Ask them what happened!" Shirabu commands, but Bokuto is already in the process of doing just that.

"The fucker hit us with an EMP!" Tanaka swears. "Killed all the jaegers. Boom! Just like that."

Tsukishima nods so fast that his damp bangs audibly slap his forehead, some of Tanaka's raw energy clearly ghost drifting to him. "And then the thing starts to tear into us and bam! Port Clairvoyant comes out of nowhere!"

Shirabu's nose wrinkles. "Port wasn't hit?"

"How'd they avoid the EMP?" asks Bokuto.

Tanaka grabs handfuls of her damp hair, manically. "That's just it! They didn't! They went down, just like us! I don't know how they started the thing back up again, but they took off after the kaiju." She points toward land. "Saved all of our lives."

As if on cue, the air around the jaegers lights up with more distress flares. The other three conn-pods are cracking open, and injured, but living, pilots struggle out. Yamagata has a black eye, and he and Goshiki are both supporting Ohira, who isn't putting his full weight on one of his legs. The two Korean pilots squat, huddled together for warmth, and just beyond them, Kawanishi flops down onto a flat part of his jaeger in relief, Semi right beside him.

For a wild moment, Shirabu almost forgets the one-way connection and nearly waves.

But then it's back to the matter at hand.

There's a kaiju out there still, as well as a jaeger, and they have no idea what shape it's in.

"They powered it back on somehow," Shirabu mutters to himself. LOCCENT can't do much but wait as Bokuto and the rest of the emergency J-Tech team get to work restarting the jaegers. He pulls up the specs and gestures to Kozume. "How do you think they did it?"

Kozume frowns and leans closer to the screen. "Um… They don't… have a back up generator."

"Right. So that's out. Any chance they just didn't get fried?"

"Port is electric… Just like the others. An EMP at that range would be sure to short it out. Assuming it _ was _ an EMP of course…"

A thought occurs to Shirabu. "Hey, didn't we send someone to fetch K-Science? I want my kaiju expert up here."

"Yeah, Futakuchi went."

"Well, did he get lost? What's taking him so long?"

Ignoring him, Kozume leans in toward a screen, tapping expertly away until he's pulled up Ushijima and Tendou's files. He scrolls through their stats and info, and there's a bright focus to his eyes that's borderline intimidating. "It is possible that…" he trails off. The way he manipulates windows and flips from tab to tab speaks of years of experience. It's like he's running simulations in his mind, and Shirabu remembers that this _ is _ the guy who programmed the original Mark-II jaegers.

"Okay," Kozume finally says. "This is just a theory, and it requires us to make two fantastical assumptions. One, we have to assume that Tendou Satori can somehow… store the capacity for energy. He's already demonstrated this by holding a drift at over 120%, and he also uses this ability to… force his partners to chase the rabbit."

Shirabu nods and watches charts and data sheets flicker before his eyes, feeling like he's playing a convoluted tabletop strategy game for the first time.

"Two, we assume that Ushijima Wakatoshi can access and use this energy, similarly to how he overpowered this kaiju the first time. It's also likely that this is how he overloads the mental loads before, by drawing on energy his previous partners didn't have."

"And you think…" Shirabu starts, trying to gauge his understanding, "…that they used this to restart the jaeger?"

Kozume shrugs. "Why not? It's why you couldn't shut them down the first time they drifted, right? You pulled the plug, but they were powering the jaeger on their own." His posture then visibly deflates, and he curls in on himself. "Anyway, it's just a theory."

"And it's the only one we've got. Okay, if you're right, how much longer do you think they can go for?"

"However long Tendou can last. To the limits of his endurance, and then for as long as Ushijima bear the strain alone."

Shirabu freezes. "So they could already be down."

"…I'd say yes."

"Which would mean an unchecked kaiju is heading inland, and all our jaegers are currently out of commission."

The jerky nod Kozume gives is not encouraging, but at least Shirabu knows where they stand. He orders half the choppers to head out in search of the kaiju, while the rest of LOCCENT busies itself with trying to pinpoint the kaiju signature.

Nearly twenty minutes passes, with each second making it all the more likely that Port Clairvoyant is permanently out of the picture. _ It's running on a human battery, _ Shirabu thinks, incredulously. He remembers Tendou, climbing back to his feet every time he was knocked down. _ Hang in there, and I swear, I'll never say a rude thing about you again. Or at least I'll try. _

Bokuto must be as good as Akaashi claims, because he manages to get Fable up and running again. Shirabu initiates Tsukishima and Tanaka's neural handshake, and they finally have an active jaeger for pursuit. With Reon's injury, the three-person unit wouldn't be going anywhere, but Konoha Akinori from J-Tech insisted he was making progress on Semi and Kawanishi's. 

Then Shirabu's monitor starts beeping, and the radar hones in on a specific coordinate. It's weak, but present. The Category-IV.

"It hasn't made it that far," he breathes. "They've kept it back."

The radar flickers, and he sends the location to Tanaka and Tsukishima, who take off as fast as their weary bodies can.

"Closing in now! Less than a minute away!" Tsukishima says.

Shirabu has worried half the nails on his right hand down to the quick. He'll end up having to bandage them later so he can type without pain, but for now, he can ignore it. He watches from the viewpoint of Fable's conn-pod, scanning for any sign of a jaeger or kaiju.

The signature blips out.

"Uh," he says, eloquently. "I'm not reading any activity. I…" He doesn't dare to hope. "I think it's dead."

Tanaka sounds dazed as she replies, "Yeah, I'd say so."

All of LOCCENT stares as one at the sight being cast on the screen before them. Fable glances left and right to take in the carnage of what was once the Category-IV kaiju, spread across a quarter mile of open terrain like someone had tried too hard to open a bag of chips and just managed to rip it in half.

"Holy shit," Bokuto says as the helicopters catch up. "Talk about overkill."

Personally, Shirabu would have liked to do twice the damage to that thing after how much stress it's caused him, but he's distracted from saying so by the telltale thuds of an approaching jaeger. It's not Lone Neglect like he'd assumed; it's Port Clairvoyant, against all odds. Whole sections of its torso are open and dangling, exposing delicate machinery to the cold mountain air, but more concerning is the fact that half the conn-pod is smashed in and missing. Shirabu tries to peer inside to see how the pilots are doing while struggling to remember who was on which side and whether the image on screen was horizontally flipped or not.

It doesn't matter because the jaeger collapses to one knee before ungracefully face-planting into the snow. The metal creaks and groans as the unit raises a hand, holding a twisted chunk of debris. Then gingerly, like it's a robot designed for surgery and not physical combat, Port Clairvoyant relaxes its grip to reveal the pilot rig from the missing side. There's a body still in it, helmet fractured and allowing dirty red hair to spill out from the fissures.

"Wait," Akaashi says. His voice is gentle enough to not disturb the mortuary silence of the command center. "If that's one ranger out there, who's piloting the jaeger?"

Shirabu taps open the stats for the fallen machine, but he already knows the answer.

Everyone may be watching the lights fade as Port Clairvoyant finally powers down, but he's busy staring at something else: a tiny wavering graph at the bottom of his monitor, and a neural handshake reading that's still holding out at 15% capacity.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Marshal Ukai had asked. He was every bit like the stories had described him, and even meeting him for the first time, Shirabu could only be grateful that he'd joined while Washijou was Tokyo's marshal.

"I am. But I thank you for the offer."

Ukai huffed a laugh and blew the smoke from his cigarette into the night, off the balcony they were standing on. "Eh, I'm sure you've got your reasons. I would've loved having you in Los Angelos though. You run a tight ship around here. We could use that."

Shirabu nodded to convey his thanks again. "I appreciate it, but I have too many ties to this Shatterdome. I have some… unfinished business."

"Ushiwaka, right? Still looking for a co-pilot?"

"Yes. It's proving to be a challenge, but I know I can figure it out."

"I'll bet you can too." It was an odd change of pace for Shirabu. He wasn't used to this blatant trust and affection from authority figures. Ukai seemed the type to really try to get to know everyone, like he marginally befriended them to earn their respect. On the other hand, Washijou just… _ commanded _it. He didn't need to play nice or sugarcoat his words. His actions and decisions spoke for themselves, and Shirabu liked that just fine.

Ukai continued, "So, do you think you might be willing afterward? It's technically a promotion. Increase in pay, bigger LOCCENT team, more jaegers. If you get Ushiwaka settled in a conn-pod, would you consider it then?"

Part of Shirabu almost said yes, if only because the idea of a change in pace seemed nice, and he was interested in visiting other places around the Pacific Rim. But then he looked down below them, where the current cadets were laughing and enjoying dinner, and he realized that his unfinished business might run deeper than just Ushijima.

There was Semi Eita, who seemed to hate Shirabu just on principle, for reasons he hadn't deciphered yet. And there was Ohira Reon, who always seemed just a bit lost and apologetic, like he was used to playing second fiddle in the big leagues. Shirabu still had the ever-cagey Tsukishima Kei to try and crack, not to mention his deep bench of current rangers who knew and trusted him.

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm… needed here."

"Makes sense. You care about them."

Shirabu bristled. "That's not it—" but Ukai cut him off with a hand.

"Our world is being attacked by monsters. It's literally falling apart at the seams. You shouldn't be ashamed of caring about others. Not to say you need to go around hugging everyone or everything." Shirabu wrinkled his nose at the thought, and the Marshal smiled. "We all have different ways of telling people they matter, and if your way is sticking it out here until the end, that's more than fine with me."

With that, Ukai excused him, lighting up another cigarette and walking away. Shirabu stood there a few minutes longer to take in the cool night air and the sight of the people who trusted him to lead LOCCENT. And down below, out of his range of vision, he could hear Tendou Satori cackling a laugh.

* * *

It's out of character, he knows, but if he stays in LOCCENT for a second longer he might lose his mind. So Shirabu stands on the tarmac, clutching his umbrella to block out the rain. He's not alone by any means, since nearly the entire Shatterdome is beside him, waiting for the helicopters to return.

Moniwa was the only one smart enough to bring binoculars, so he's also the first one to see them, hollering for a solid thirty seconds before Shirabu senses any movement.

The choppers emerge from the mist, carrying the four massive jaegers below them. The remains of Port Clairvoyant were left behind in favor of airlifting out a barely-conscious Tendou and an exhausted Ushijima, who'd had to be practically pried from the smoldering conn-pod.

Several of the pilots come down on stretchers, and the ghost drift binds them together, blinding them to the relieved crowd welcoming them back. Ohira is laughing quietly, Yamagata and Goshiki each gripping one of his hands as they struggle to limp alongside the medical crew. Kawanishi is also carried out, but he's only paying attention to Semi, who is maintaining eye contact as he follows, like if either of them blinks they might vanish forever.

Tanaka and Tsukishima stride out proudly. They look tired, as would be expected, but there's a joy to their movements too. The younger Tsukishima is pushed awkwardly forward by Yamaguchi, but his older brother has no similar qualms about affection, and easily wraps him in a tight hug. After a tense moment, Kei's arms come up too, fists clutching at handholds in his drivesuit.

Some people starting heading back inside, eager to escape the rain, and ready to congratulate the heroes of the day. Even Nova Hyperion's pilots get a warm, friendly welcome from the Tokyo crew.

But still Shirabu waits.

And finally, _ finally, _Tendou and Ushijima arrive. They're locked together, hand-in-hand, forcing the medics to keep their stretchers even, and despite a myriad of surface injuries, they look… happy.

"Kenjirou-kun!" Tendou rasps. "You did it!"

It's a defense mechanism, but Shirabu lets out a derisive snort. "What are you talking about? _ You _ saved the day."

"Nah… That was all Wakatoshi. The kaiju smashed the conn-pod and I sat the rest of it out."

It hardly seems possible that Tendou wouldn't realize his role in the whole fight, but he also isn't the humble type either. "You… you maintained a 15% neural handshake while partially conscious and literally _ removed _ from the jaeger. There was _ no machinery _ connecting your minds, yet you held on. And that's after you functioned as a human battery for nearly 7,000 metric tons of metal alloys and circuitry. Granted it _ is _amazing that Ushijima piloted solo at the end there, too." Shirabu shakes his head, letting his bangs skim wetly across his cheeks. "It's a miracle either of you survived."

Ushijima turns his head and points at Tendou with a hand darkened by soot and ash. "Miracle-boy Satori," he says simply, and Tendou's whole face contorts in a wide grin.

"And miracle-boy Wakatoshi!"

Shirabu scoffs and turns away. "Rest up, you two," he calls over his shoulder. "I'll have a jaeger ready for you as soon as possible, so I'll need both the 'miracle-boys' ready to pilot." He leaves them to banter about what they'll call their next jaeger, not that it's up to them, since Akaashi and Kozume name everything anyway.

He'd desperately needed to get out of mission control, but now that he's seen all the pilots return safely, all he wants is to go back to his space and relax. Shirabu shakes off his umbrella and trudges back inside, riding the industrial elevator up to LOCCENT. There is already some sort of celebration going on, with Moniwa pouring drinks — including one for the Marshal — and Koganegawa passing out hard candies. Shirabu hadn't thought he'd be up for social interaction, but he can't protest to the nearly-warm pat that Washijou gives his back as he walks through.

There are still shards of ceramic on the floor, a reminder of the long night, but Shirabu's chair is there waiting for him. He practically collapses into it, limbs loose and rubbery like Tendou's affliction was contagious all along. Moniwa passes him a mug full of champagne, dependable as usual, and Shirabu is fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to stand up again even if a kaiju burst through the wall that very second.

But no kaiju interrupts their festivities.

Instead the doors fly open and a very frantic, very frazzled Dr. Yaku stumbles in, with the elusive Futakuchi hot on his heels. The celebration stops and the room goes quiet as the scientist catches his breath, righting himself on a desk.

"Dr. Yaku?" Shirabu asks, concerned.

He looks up with wild eyes. "Tetsurou created a neural bridge from garbage and Drifted with a kaiju."

Shirabu drops and breaks a second mug.

Somewhere, in the depths of the Pacific, there is movement in the Breach.

**Author's Note:**

> tendou: rip to soekawa but i'm different
> 
> ***
> 
> i'm on twitter and tumblr @newttxt so feel free to drop by!
> 
> this was wildly self-indulgent, because no one else was going to make me a shiratorizawa-centric pacific rim au, and what else is fanfic for. but also, if i had to name another jaeger i was going to snap my phone in half
> 
> (thank you to all the carols on discord, as per usual)


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